Most of my walking in cemeteries has been at Père Lachaise and Montparnasse, where the headstones and mausoleums honor people such as Jean-Paul Sartre and Edith Piaf.

But I’ve found a very unusual cemetery in my other home town. In this one, the graves are unmarked.

There are more than 3,000 of them. They are on the grounds of what used to be called the Western State Lunatic Asylum, in Staunton, Virginia. I’ve become fascinated with its shocking history and what it has become today.

Western State, founded in 1828, was one of dozens of architecturally magnificent institutions built in the United States to house psychiatric patients. Every state had at least one. According to this article, they held more than 500,000 patients by the 1950s.

There was one in the town where I grew up: Athens, Ohio. Like Western State, the campus includes multiple brick buildings on a green and inviting campus, and hills that we sledded down in winter. The idea was that patients would benefit from being outdoors in beautiful, inviting settings (more below on the tragic turn patient care took at these asylums). The building complex is now owned by Ohio University.

Western State went through several iterations as new medications and treatments reduced the need for institutionalization. The site was closed in 1976, then became a prison from 1981 to 2002. It stood abandoned for a few years before it was purchased by a developer. (A modern facility on the east side of town still serves patients.)

Today the old complex is home to a hotel and conference center,

Several condominium buildings

And a sports club.

But to me, that’s not the interesting part. Unlike many other such sites, Western State is only partly developed. You can walk freely on the grounds—without seeing a soul—and find many remnants of the old days. This building backs right up to the rear of the hotel.

This striking arch was also the subject of a painting by our friend, artist Lincoln Perry.

Photo: Lincoln Perry

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But the most troubling reminders of Western State’s past are just off-site.

On the other side of the hill, less than a mile from this complex, is a symbol of the worst of mental health care. It goes back to 1905, when Dr. Joseph S. DeJarnette became Western State’s director. He seemed to be a proponent of the so-called moral treatment method, which calls for surrounding patients with natural air and light, as well as gentle treatment. At the same time, though, he was influential in persuading the Virginia legislature to pass a 1924 law authorizing forced sterilization of patients in mental institutions, and performed hundreds of the procedures at Western State. He even praised Germany’s eugenics program in 1934.

University of Virginia Special Collections

It’s almost impossible to imagine that more than 60,000 Americans were forcibly sterilized between 1907 and—incredibly—the mid-1970s. Virginia, which sterilized more patients than any state but California, didn’t repeal its law permitting sterilizations until 1974.

DeJarnette testified against a 1927 challenge to it before the U.S. Supreme Court, and the law was upheld. Carrie Buck, the 18-year-old allegedly “feebleminded” woman who had been sterilized, later turned out to have been raped rather than being promiscuous, as was claimed during the court case. Nor was she epileptic or “feebleminded,” as the suit claimed. When eventually released, she went on to live a normal life.

In 1932, the doctor founded the DeJarnette Sanitarium, for private patients, not far away. Even after he was pushed out of Western State in 1943, he continued to practice forced sterilizations at the sanitarium for another four years, as well as lobotomies and electroshock therapy.

The sanitarium buildings, universally known locally as the DeJarnettes, are abandoned today. The site is for sale and trespassing is forbidden. Friends who grew up here describe sneaking onto the property and seeing unhoused people sheltering there. Both complexes have horrible histories, but at least parts of the Western State Complex have been turned into something good. There is nothing good here.

The cemetery is on the far side of the complex, across from the former dairy. In theory it is fenced off, but no one polices it.

The reason the graves are mostly nameless is that families were ashamed to have loved ones in a mental institution. The stigma was strong then. The gravestones apparently had numbered codes on them originally, that could be matched with a registry, but the numbers wore off.

The dead sleep overlooking the buildings where, for some of them, a madman deprived them of the most basic human right: control over one’s body.

 

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